


Five hundred midnights

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Identity Porn, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reunion Sex, Secret Missions, Semi-Public Sex, handjobs, in a vague sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7823932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Undercover, Poe and Finn meet up in a pleasure city, take out their surveillance, and get <del>busy</del> reacquainted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five hundred midnights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meekobits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meekobits/gifts).



> Thanks to @coffeeinallcaps for permission to write porn unredeemed by insight or plot and to @hegemony who, possibly inadvertently (and singlehandedly, heh), kinked me on semi-public handjobs this week.
> 
> Title from the Replacements, "Darlin' One".
> 
> Happy birthday to @meekobits! You are a gift and a half. I tried like heck to make a couple word pictures to match your amazing visuals.

Supposedly, he's a midlevel spice trader, new to the sector and looking to make all kinds of friends, professional and not, erotic and regular. He's a vision, that's for sure, sleaze on two swaggering legs, shiny enough to dazzle even a Keshian.

"Hey, stranger, buy you a drink? Some spice?" His hair is almost fully silver, probably thanks to the strange lights in this cavernous, yet overcrowded, cantina. His shirt is even more glittery, open at the neck and then about halfway down his chest, exposing the dark-ish skin and soft texture of hair. He licks his lips as he looks Finn up and down, letting his mirrored spectacles slip down his prominent nose. "Anything in the galaxy your little heart might desire."

"I'm good, thanks," Finn tells him before turning back to the endgame of this pitched dejarik battle with a very melancholy Mon Calamari.

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that. You want to be compensated for your time and attention? Maybe even..." He leans in, breath hot on Finn's cheek. "Affection? If I'm very good, maybe your affection?"

"Nah," Finn says, hands curling into fists under the table.

"I got the credits, sweet stuff."

"Yeah? Because, no offense, you don't really look like you do." Finn half-turns, sweeping his hand up and down. "You kind of look like a tired old flyboy overdrawn on every account but still trying to talk big."

Sleazebag laughs at that, clapping Finn on the shoulder, shaking his head, delighted. "Offense taken, handsome. Offense most definitely taken."

Finn executes a messy but effective Mothma bind that traps the Calamarian's tentacled rook to win the match. His opponent moans, its baleen mouth filter trembling.

"Sorry," Finn tells it, holding out his hand. "Better luck next time. I've got to go take care of --" He doesn't look at the sleaze, but indicates him with a quick tilt of the head. " _This_. But I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Always a loser, never a winner," the Calamari says mournfully. Its big eyes wheel over to the glimmering silver sleaze. "Ever a wingman, never a pick-up."

"Buck up, Frook," Finn says, hugging it one-armed as he passes. "Your day's coming, I can feel it."

He shoves the sleaze by the shoulder as they near the exit. "What gives, asshole?"

"Hey, hey," the guy croons. "Just want to get acquainted, since when's that a crime?"

They're in relatively neutral territory. Technically Republic airspace, but the moon itself is artificial, imported by one of those makeshift conglomerates whose origin can never fully be ascertained. It's a pleasure city, decent for conducting sub-rosa business, terrible for anything remotely aboveboard or sincere.

"This is your disguise?" Finn whispers when they hit the street. "It's blinding."

"Yeah, pretty great, right?" Poe turns, arms out, walking backwards now. His breeches appear to be slightly _furred_ , and they're certainly clinging to every centimeter of his skin. His boots, silver again, are wedge-heeled and squeaky. Even more quietly, he adds, "Three tails, eight, ten meters back."

"Sure, okay." Finn turns Poe back around until he's facing forward and urges him on. "Weirdo."

"Really like the looks of you," Poe says, much more loudly and clearly. "Any chance I can change your mind?"

"I'm no port punk," Finn tells him, matching his volume. "Can't be bought."

"Not for love or credits, huh?"

"Well, maybe love." Finn lets a passing Nautolan jostle him a little so he can slow down and lean over to check the fastening on his boots. He glances over his shoulder, casually, then straightens back up. "Two, now. Third's headed back to the club."

"Just ten minutes of your sweet, precious time," Poe says, crowding Finn against a buttress at the edge of the city disc. Behind and below them is all wind, the ragged detritus of a city, shrieks. "Promise to make it worth your while, youngling."

"Tell me more." Finn's hands settle on Poe's hips, the waistband of low-hanging breeches, thumbs stroking the rise of his pelvic bones under that ridiculous shirt. " _How_ worth?"

"Anything you want, you keep that up," Poe says good and loud.

Finn tips his head back, eyes half-closed, checking the foot traffic as it moves around them. The two humanoids who'd been tailing them have split up; one passes slowly, then speeds up when Poe groans and Finn wraps one leg around the back of Poe's knees. 

"Fuck you smell so _good_ ," Poe mutters. The boots give him just enough height to look straight on at Finn. He tips up Finn's face, kisses him hard and hungry as he grinds down.

"One's circling back," Finn whispers against Poe's open mouth. He reaches back and cups Poe's ass with one hand, pulling him that much closer. "That's good. Just like that."

He says it loudly enough that it could be for the benefit of whoever's surveilling them. But it's true, too, they can both feel it as Poe gets Finn's trousers open and pushes his hand inside. He grunts when he finds Finn just about all the way hard, head sticky already. "Like that?"

"More," Finn says. "Just like that, harder."

Finn has to shift and hop a little to do the same to Poe - those breeches are ridiculously tight - and then they're kissing again, wet slipping mouths and searching tongues. Poe's hips pump and grind, match the quick tug and release he's giving Finn. The fabric of his breeches against Finn's skin builds up a strange, lulling sort of friction-burn, while that of his shirt just snags on Finn's own, far more sober clothes. It glints and sparkles, even here in the dark.

Poe nips down on Finn's lower lip and grinds harder yet. "You like that?"

"Gone, they're --" Finn's nails dig into the skin over Poe's ass and his other hand moves faster, twisting Poe's dick root to head, palm skating and teasing. "Fuck."

"You're going to come, aren't you?" Poe presses his face into the side of Finn's neck, biting his earlobe, sucking up random patches of skin. "Do it."

"I, _damn_. I don't want to do it here, I can't --"

"C'mon," Poe whispers and slows his hand, lets Finn's dick jump against his fingers. "Come on. Wanna see you."

Finn jerks him harder for that, pulling Poe up to his toes, running his teeth and tongue down the center of his throat, from itchy stubble over smooth skin to his clavicle and soft start to his chest hair. He digs his fingers into Poe's crack, splitting him a little, and jerks until Poe's shuddering against him, all jokes evaporated in the face of the pants and wheezes coming out his mouth.

"I go next?" a husky, non-humanoid voice asks. "I go next, yes. Share."

"No sharing," Finn gets out, stuffing himself back into his trousers.

It's a fully-grown Blattode, antennae twitching, a little taller than Poe but wider than the both of them side by side. "I go next, have both. Yum."

Finn and Poe shift and unhinge, fanning open. Finn grabs the Blattode by the edge of its thoracic shell while Poe drives his fist into its soft underbelly. "Who sent you?"

"No one --" it gurgles. When Finn twists its forearm back, something gives and creaks; pale, rancid-smelling lymph wells from the wound.

"You want to keep that appendage?" Poe shoves his palm against the center of its belly. "Answer the question, 'cause my friend here looks like he's in a ripping mood."

It writhes in Finn's hold, mouthpieces clicking. "No rip! No rip!"

"Why're you following us?" Finn asks and shakes it a little. "Huh? Who sent you?"

It tries to draw itself up, hairy antennae quivering in outrage. "The most holy and righteous Knights of Ren deign not to answer the questions of a trait--"

"He got _loquacious_ there at the end," Poe marvels when Finn has twisted off its head and pitched it over the safety barrier. The carapace lies on its back before them, five legs twitching in death, broken forearm trailing over Finn's boot-toe.

"Raincheck on the handjob?" Finn says sadly, looking at the lymph and spinal fluid coating him to the elbows. "Unless you have yet more kinks I don't know about?"

Poe actually pauses to consider that, cocking his head and sucking his lip. Finn knocks him in the shoulder. "That was a joke."

Two more Blattodes are meeting at the end of the block, antennae shaking in the streetlight, then swivelling toward Poe and Finn.

"Let's get out of here." Poe, heedless of the mess, grabs Finn's hand and they dash across the expressway, dodging speeders and hackneys.

"Where to?" Finn yells over the shriek of traffic.

"Home, or close to it!"

Poe has a personal-sized zeppelin moored in a public lot, a tangle of vehicles high above the night market. He starts to wrap his arm around Finn's waist, then recalculates. Grinning, he tosses the proseil handle to Finn and jumps into his other arm, legs around Finn's waist. 

Finn staggers back but holds on to both. "What is this?" 

Poe kisses his cheek. "Hit the button and hold your breath," he says. "And hold on, obviously."

"Not obviousssssssssssssssssss--" Finn yells as the proseil wrenches him off his feet and yanks him up at least three stories. Poe's got his arms around Finn's neck, his head thrown back. His delighted and exhilarated laughter peals out, chases them upward.

They swing onto a narrow platform and Finn barely has time to shake his head and find his balance before Poe's dragging him down a rickety walkway to the zeppelin.

Shaped like an old-fashioned blaster bolt, the zeppelin is just about the size of a double bunk back on base, little more than a swollen red hull containing a chemical 'fresher, wide sleeping platform littered with pillows and heaped with quilts, and a tiny navigation port. Every surface is richly colored, reds and burgundies and vivid sunset oranges, decorated with chips of metal and mirror that catch the lights and send them spinning. It's like being _inside_ Poe's shirt.

"BB-8, I brought you a fri-end," Poe calls out. The droid peeks out from the nav port and beeps excitedly at the sight of Finn. Poe pushes Finn toward the 'fresher. "Clean up, man, I've got _plans_ for you."

BB-8 asks about Finn's odor.

"He usually smells great, I know," Poe says, sinking down onto the platform and unzipping one of the garish boots. He grabs a wet rag from BB-8's sanitation array and cleans off his own hands. "But he took out a Blattode single-handed, so I think we can cut him some slack."

"Not single-handed." Finn strips off his ruined jersey and scrubs himself clean, then does it all over again. He looks around and says, a little doubtfully, "You better have some non-glittering clothes for me to borrow."

BB-8 squeaks.

"Exactly, I look fantastic, and I have no idea what --" 

Letting out a shrill whistle, BB-8 jabs his pincer toward Poe.

"Fine." Poe sighs. "BB agrees with you about the clothes. They're apparently a little garish, but since when is a droid a fashion expert? And I have to apologize to you for taking advantage of you not knowing Binary. _Still_."

"I'm learning!"

BB-8 burbles sadly. Not fast enough, apparently.

"Ganging up on me," Poe says, "I can't believe it."

"Poor you," Finn says without sympathy. Shirtless, clean again, he joins Poe on the platform. "Everyone's so _mean_ to you."

"It's true, though, I'm very put-upon and --" Poe tries to say, but starts laughing when Finn sways into him, knocking him to the side. He winces when he lands. 

Finn had been planting his hands on either side of Poe, pulling himself up and over, but he pauses now, frowning. "You're hurt."

"Nah."

Finn raises his eyebrows and waits. Poe wiggles a little, not meeting his eyes. For a seasoned operative, he can break pretty easy. You just have to wait him out.

"It's nothing." Poe kicks off his other boot. "It'll be fine by morning."

Finn sits back on his haunches. "You are such a jackass."

BB-8 trills agreement.

Wide-eyed with half-sincere innocence, Poe looks back and forth between them. "What?"

"Let me see," Finn says.

Poe grins and shakes the hair out of his eyes. "You wanna see me, baby?"

"I want to see your injury, yeah."

Scowling now, Poe tries to shift away, but Finn pins him in place. Poe sighs. "I feel like we have this conversation a lot."

"We do, yeah," Finn replies. "Because you're a jackass."

BB-8 says something that could be "brave but stupid" or "verdancy of innocence". Finn's Binary is still terrifically elementary.

"Or! Maybe it's - work with me here - maybe it's because you're a worrywart and an incredibly handsome but also hugely overbearing mama-wookiee?"

Finn runs his palms up and down Poe's thighs. "No way. I worry within perfectly reasonable limits. Just because _you've_ never met a limit you didn't run at, straight through, spewing rubble behind, doesn't mean --"

"Hey, Finn?"

"Yeah?"

Poe pushes up on one elbow. He's favoring his left side, Finn notes. "Missed you. I'm glad you made it."

"Same here." Finn darts in and kisses Poe softly before pulling back and adding, "Missed you like hell. Glad I made it. Glad _you_ made it."

"I always make it," Poe says, reaching up, trailing his fingertips down Finn's chest. "Plan to keep making it until I --"

Finn kisses him again, easing down over him, pulling Poe up over him so he can favor whatever dumb injury he's trying to hide.

"See, usually, I'm surrounded by advanced technology with hyperdrives, armed with several varieties of weapons. Helps my chances big-time. You, though?" Poe pauses, getting their groins lined back up, rocking his hips nice and slow until Finn's smile is spreading like dawn's light. "You've just got a blaster and that amazing brain --"

"Also a knife in my boot," Finn says, hands coming back to Poe's ass, finding their homes all over again, lifting his cheeks through the weird breeches, spreading, claiming.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, new thing for this mission." Finn kisses Poe's jaw, sucks a line across his throat until Poe starts grinding harder and more urgently.

"Cool. I was saying, though --" Poe presses his palm on one of Finn's pecs, molding it, squeezing it, thrumming his thumbnail against the nipple until Finn's shivering and moaning. "I was saying --. _Fuck_."

He arches and grinds and Finn meets him, kisses him.

"Yeah, what were you saying?" Finn works one leg between Poe's and reaches between them to get his hand back on Poe's cock. He can't, not at this angle. "Buddy, get your dick out? For me? Please?"

Poe's eyes widen - as if no one's ever asked him something like that before! - and he shimmies a little to comply. He's rewarded by Finn's big, warm palm immediately resuming a steady, blood-effervescing jerk. "I was saying, all you're armed with is a blaster, now a knife in your boot - see, I listen - amazing brain and jaw-dropping body."

"Jaw-dropping, huh?"

"Mind-blowing," Poe says and nods. "Awe-inspiring."

"You gonna drop your jaw for me?" Finn asks. His eyes are hooded and his voice is husky and Poe _shudders_.

"Jaw, pants, what do you want me to drop?"

Finn's smile takes it time unfurling again. The tip of his tongue flashes, his hips lift and grind, his hand on Poe's cock squeezes good and hard. The zeppelin rocks in the port winds; all the chimes and curtains filling the interior ring and shift with the motion.

"Anything, man," Poe adds. He thrusts into Finn's grip and the rest of what he says comes out breathy and soft. "Say the word."

There's so much to look at, to remember and store up for the next separation - the tumble of Poe's hair, loosened by sweat, across his forehead, the timbre of Finn's moans, the ones that come fast and shallow, almost secretively urgent. But that's the thing, isn't it? Either they're here in the moment, fully, enjoying every stray detail and touch, or they're watching, memorizing, keeping apart for a future that may or may not ever arrive.

"Gimme your hand again," Finn says finally, pulling them onto their sides, pushing his erection against Poe's leg. "Just --"

Poe's kissing him, or leaning in to kiss him when Finn starts kissing _him_ , or something else. At any rate, a kiss resumes and Poe gets his grip on Finn's dick. He groans just at the graze of his palm across Finn's shaft, and then they're thrusting together, mouths mashed numbingly against each other, tongues flattened against teeth. Finn's free hand roves up Poe's back, grabs his hair, then flies back to his ass, hauls him closer. Poe wriggles and pinches, fucking Finn's tight fist, babbling moans into Finn's mouth.

BB-8 retreats to the nav annex to continue monitoring comms and local airspace traffic.

Finn comes first, vision filled with the glint and dazzle of Poe's shirt, chimes sounding between his ears, spunk splattering them both. Poe bites down on Finn's neck, grinding gone patchy and arrhythmic.

"Come on," Finn says, loud as anything. "Come for me, come _on_."

Poe rears back a little and paints Finn's hand and belly with bright, then dimming, spunk.

"See?" Finn hugs him close, mouth on his ear. "Sometimes, you _can_ do what you're told."

"Hmf," Poe protests, entirely coherently and cogently, hauling Finn's leg over his, burying his face in Finn's chest. "Funny."

Finn kisses the crown of Poe's skull, where the scalp is bright in the low light, matching the silver in his hair. "I'm _hilarious_."

"You're something, man."

"Thanks."

"Yeah, of course," Poe says, reaching back blindly to find a quilt. Finn comes with him, their sweaty skin adhering, his mouth fastened to Poe's shoulder. "Welcome. Always.'


End file.
